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The first morning that Klaus was on leave, he woke up at the usual time. He went for a run, showered, and dressed- in old jeans and a faded tee shirt instead of the usual a suit and tie. After breakfast, he wandered out to the garages, and spent the morning working on the cars. By lunch time, his Benz and the old Porsche 356 his uncle had left him had both had their oil changed, their engines tuned, and their bodywork washed thoroughly. After a light lunch, Klaus polished both cars to a mirror-like gloss. Then he wandered back into the house and tried to bury himself in reading a book of military history written in the eighteenth century by a Prussian general.

Military strategy interested him very much, but even so, he couldn’t concentrate. His mind drifted back to his last mission, to breaking into that empty house and removing all those paintings. Klaus prided himself on his own strategic skills, but that damned English thief was a consummate strategist. In fact, Klaus had recognised long ago that when it came to strategy, Eroica was his equal. Not that he would ever tell him so.

Try as he might to keep his mind on his book, Klaus found himself thinking about other instances where the thief had shown his skill. His mastery over security systems. His ability to break into places leaving no trace. His rare talent for disguise. His gift for improvisation.

Gott verdammt! Klaus looked at his watch. It was nearly time to get ready for dinner. Instead of making progress with his reading, he’d wasted half the afternoon thinking about that bloody nuisance!

On the second day, he went for a longer run, and after showering, dressing, and breakfasting, he armed himself with a set of long-handled pruning shears and set to work amongst the shrubs and trees in the garden. He felt satisfied with the progress he was making, until the gardener could no longer contain his angst, and begged him to stop because it wasn’t yet the right season to prune.

Klaus spent the afternoon struggling with the Prussian general and his campaigns, then gave up, opened a bottle of beer, and turned on the television.

One of the channels was showing replays of classic football matches, so he settled in to watch a replay of Germany vs. England in the 1966 World Cup. He’d seen the match before. The teams were equally skilled, and the scores were level until extra time.

It must have been because he’d seen it before, and because he knew the outcome- or so Klaus told himself- that his attention kept fading.

He thought about England. He’d only ever gone to England for work, never pleasure. Klaus knew most English people he’d dealt with thought he was blunt- rude, even. For his part, he’d always thought the English wasted time on empty verbiage. Never quite saying what they meant. Never quite calling things for what they were. Always talking about the weather. Weather was weather; you couldn’t do anything about it, so why go on about it?

Eroica, on the other hand, could be very direct. True, he used a lot of innuendo- but his meaning was never obscure. And there were times when the man had been unnecessarily frank. Embarrassingly frank. That time in Rome. He’d punched Eroica that day, for saying he loved him in front of all those people. And yet, the man wasn’t dissuaded.

Reluctantly, Klaus thought about the days he’d spent believing that he was Eroica. He remembered the thoughts he’d had about the man Eroica loved, the man whose face and voice he couldn’t recall. Thoughts that were sincere and honourable- not lascivious, depraved and self-serving. Those thoughts must have come from Klaus’s own mind, so what did it mean? That he would like Eroica to think like that? Or that he believed Eroica really did think like that, under all the lewd behavior and foppery?

He dragged his attention back to the TV screen just as the controversial final goal was kicked and the English team won. Klaus swore, and turned off the set.

On the third day, he went back to the garages, and wheeled his powerful BMW motorcycle into the middle of the floor. Klaus enjoyed motorcycling. The raw power, the feeling of connection with both the machine and the elements, the freedom of the road, the sensation of speed. He sighed. He got so little time to ride.

The motorcycle got the same thorough treatment the cars had received. By lunch time, the bike had been serviced, tuned up, cleaned, and polished. Perhaps, in the afternoon, he would take it for a run. Or – why not make it an overnight trip? All he’d need was a toothbrush and a change of underwear. He could ride until the light went, find somewhere to stay for the night, then come back the next day by a different route.

Yes, why not?

As he strolled across the cobbled yard to the side door of the Schloss, Klaus’s attention was caught by a flash of red through the trees beside the long drive. He stopped. Watched.

A red Lamborghini emerged from behind the row of linden trees lining the drive.

That’s fucking Eroica! What the hell is he doing here?

Klaus strode into the house, heading for the entrance hall. He shooed Herr Hinkel out of the way and opened the front door himself.

–What are you doing here, Limey?”

His visitor shook abundant blond curls back over his shoulders and adjusted his peach-coloured chiffon scarf. –I came to see you, Major. I was worried about you.”

–Worried?” Klaus turned and walked away from the front door. His visitor followed, since he hadn’t been specifically told not to. Briefly, Klaus glanced back over his shoulder, and kept walking. –Why would you be worried?” He pushed open a door. –Come in. Sit down.”

Eroica floated in with studied grace, looking slightly puzzled. He sat down, arranging himself in a large comfortable chair. –I called your office. I learned that you were on leave- which is unusual enough- but nobody would say why. There was some hint that it was medically related. Nobody would say what the problem was; for all I knew, you’d been shot. So, I came here to find out how you were.”

Klaus poured two large glasses from a bottle of cognac on the sideboard, and handed one to Eroica. He sat down, facing the thief across a low table. –Is your curiosity satisfied, then?”

Eroica gave Klaus an arch smile. –Partly satisfied- I see there doesn’t seem to be any overt damage. Partly more curious than ever, though, because I half expected you to slam the door in my face. Instead, you invite me in and give me cognac.” Eroica took a sip. –Very good cognac, too, if I may say so.”

Klaus smiled faintly. It was true: in the past, he might have done exactly as Eroica had said. Strangely, today, he didn’t feel the need to.

–So, tell me, Major- the mission. What happened after you gave me the keys to the truck and sent me away? After you said, ‘Fuck off and leave it to the professionals.’ You told me you were going to call your men to come and collect you and the paintings, and that they’d be there later that same day. Did Mischa and his ruffians turn up first?”

–You know about the KGB arriving, then.”

–Yes. But no details.” Eroica sat sipping his cognac, looking expectant.

Since he’d been home on leave, Klaus had imagined several different versions of this very conversation. Which version should he enact now? Should he tell Eroica the whole story, down to the very last detail? Or should he give a heavily edited version?

To delay saying anything at all, he got up and strolled over to the sideboard. He picked up the cognac bottle and brought it back with him, setting it down on the low table between himself and his guest. He took another sip from his own glass and put it down beside the bottle.

–I don’t know how much time passed between your leaving, and Mischa’s arrival. Perhaps not much, because I never made the call to my men. I don’t remember anything about what happened, because when Mischa and his thugs arrived, they gave me a hell of a beating.” Klaus paused. –I spent some days suffering from temporary amnesia. That’s why I’m on leave. Rest and recuperation.”

The thief’s eyes were wide. After a few moments he raised his glass to his lips, took another sip, and set the glass down on the table next to Klaus’s.

Watching Eroica’s reactions, Klaus weighed up how much more he should say- then tossed a mental coin. Speak now and that’s the end of the story. If you can keep quiet a while longer, I’ll tell you the rest. All of it.

He half hoped that the thief would speak, so the rest of the story didn’t have to be told- but he didn’t, so Klaus pressed on.

–When I regained consciousness after they’d beaten me up, I realised I had no idea who I was. No idea where I was, or why. They’d left me in that store-room with the paintings, and I could hear some of their conversation through the wall. They mentioned a name: Eroica.” He paused. –And I came to the conclusion they must have been talking about me. I concluded that I was Eroica.”

The thief’s eyes widened even further, but still he said nothing.

–The Russians took away the collection and left me there, handcuffed and locked in. Mischa called Interpol. The bastard must have thought that up as a special joke, since I’d got the idea that I was an internationally-wanted art thief. They took all but two of the paintings- left them there so Interpol could see evidence of my latest theft. I spent nearly a week in custody, still believing I was Eroica, until something triggered a clear memory and I remembered who I was.” Klaus shrugged. –I persuaded the Prison Governor to call the Bonn office, and they sent someone to identify me and get me out.”

Eroica reached for his cognac and took three swallows without drawing breath.

–So, Eroica, that’s what happened after I sent you away. I lost the collection, and Mischa got a good story to tell when he got back home to Russia.”

–You thought you were me?”

–Yes.”

–And Interpol held you in custody?”

–Yes.” Klaus picked up his cognac and swirled it round in the glass, a rich amber vortex. –Well, Eroica? Curiosity satisfied now?”

–One more question, Major. Why did NATO want me to steal a man’s entire art collection?”

Klaus looked steadily at Eroica for a few moments. –The official position is that you don’t need to know that.”

–So you said when we set out to rob the house. I did my part- without knowing why- and now the collection’s been taken by the Russians. Call me curious, but I want to know what’s so special about that collection as far as NATO and the KGB are concerned.”

H’mph. Klaus reminded himself again that as a contractor, Eroica didn’t need to know, but- Oh, fuck it.

–Our interest wasn’t in the collection itself. Tarek Nabiyev, the man who owned it, has family connections going back a couple of generations with a region within the Soviet Union where there’s an uprising going on. Some of the populace objects to being under Soviet rule. They’ve objected since they became part of the Soviet Union, but now they’re taking action. Small-scale skirmishes so far, but enough to ruffle feathers in the Kremlin. Rebellion isn’t taken lightly by the Russians.”

–What do the paintings have to do with that?”

–We received word that Nabiyev was brokering a deal with an arms supplier to secure better-grade weapons for the rebels. The deal was, the supplier’s representatives would go to his house, gain access with his prior assistance, and remove the collection. You said it yourself, Eroica – those paintings, in total, are worth several million. No doubt the arms supplier would turn them into cash over time.”

–Payment for an arms shipment? To aid rebels in the Soviet Union?”

–Yes.”

Eroica sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. –Then, NATO’s motivation was to prevent the transaction from going through.”

–Correct.”

–Why would NATO care about an uprising in the Soviet Union? Surely such a thing is outside your area of interest?”

–If the man brokering the deal is living in West Germany, and the deal is to take place here, believe me— NATO’s interested.”

–But wouldn’t the KGB also want to stop the transaction? Wouldn’t they think you’d done them a good turn? Why did they want to steal the paintings from you?”

Klaus refreshed his own glass and Eroica’s. –It seems likely that Mischa and his men were sent to do exactly what we’d done: steal the paintings to stop the transaction. When they saw that we’d got there first, they stole the paintings from us so they could claim they’d completed their mission.”

–And what would the Russians do with the paintings once they arrived in Moscow?”

A shrug. –Put them into storage, I suppose. Material evidence.”

Eroica sipped his cognac. –Shame. Art shouldn’t be locked away; it should be enjoyed – by people who know how to enjoy it.” He held up his glass and studied it, then drawled nonchalantly, –You don’t know, perchance, where they would have taken the paintings?”

A dark glare stormed up in Klaus’s eyes. –No, I don’t. And listen, Eroica: don’t even think about trying to steal those paintings back from the Russians. Just let it go. Do you hear me?”

–Why, Major!” An impish smile played around Eroica’s lips. –Nothing was further from my mind.”

–Good. Keep it that way.”

Before anything more could be said on the matter, the door opened and Herr Hinkel came in carrying a tray piled with bread, cheese and fruit, and a pot of goose liver paté. Without a word, he placed it on the table and left the room.

Klaus smiled briefly, shaking his head. –Herr Hinkel can’t bear to think I might miss a meal.” He lifted a small plate and a knife from the tray and passed them to Eroica. –Thinks I need a nursemaid. Does your butler fuss over your meals?”

–My butler doubles as a burglar, not a nanny.” Eroica bit into a slice of cheese. –You’re being very hospitable, Major. You haven’t shouted at me since I got here.”

Spreading paté on bread, Klaus flicked a glance at his guest. –No need. You haven’t done anything idiotic. Yet.”

They munched in silence for a while.

–Tell me, Major,” Eroica said at last; –when you thought you were me- did that trouble you? I mean, afterwards, when you knew who you really were.”

Klaus took his time chewing and swallowing, delaying his answer. He’d done a lot of thinking about that very question since he’d recovered his memory, and decided to answer honestly.

–No. It didn’t trouble me. Not while I thought I was you; not afterward. It was a reasonable conclusion to reach, in the circumstances. The Russians were talking about someone called Eroica; there were the paintings. Seemed logical at the time. And, according to the doctor who did my medical debriefing, it's not unusual for someone with temporary amnesia to latch on to the identity of someone they know well.”

–But did you- did you think like me?”

–Like a bloody thief, you mean?”

–No, I mean-” Eroica broke off, and sighed. –Sorry. Forget it. I withdraw the question.”

Klaus cut another slice of cheese. –While I thought I was you, I started to recall things from that damned mission in Alaska. I remembered Mischa being threatened by someone with a gun that might or might not have been empty.” He didn’t look at Eroica as he said, –I thought the man holding Mischa at gunpoint must be Iron Klaus.”

He looked up to see Eroica staring wide-eyed again.

–You thought- You thought that I was you?”

–Yes. And I remember thinking- I remember Eroica thinking – me thinking as Eroica- that he was exactly what Eroica would want in a man: brave, daring-” The next word stuck in Klaus’s throat. He couldn’t bring himself to say –beautiful”.

–Oh, Major.” The thief looked lost for words.

–And, believe it or not, I understood what it must feel like to think that way about a man.” Klaus abandoned his food, stood up, and went over to look out of the window. Anything to remove the need to look Eroica in the face.

When Eroica didn’t speak, Klaus turned back toward him.

–Explain this to me, Eroica. You act like an outrageous fop when there are other people present, but when we’re alone, you don’t. You didn’t flirt or carry on while we were stealing the collection from Nabiyev’s house, or while we were driving the truck to that shack where I was supposed to meet my men.”

–Did you want me to, Major?”

–No, I bloody well didn’t. But why? Why the difference?”

Now it was Eroica’s turn to look uncomfortable, and it took him a long time to reply.

–When we’re with other people, they take one look at me and expect me to carry on like that. It’s how they think homosexuals behave. Any of them with eyes in their heads can see I care for you, Major. And God knows, there are enough rumours about you and me- and I know how much you hate that.” He shrugged. –When I behave outrageously, it gives you an excuse to show them all that you’re not interested. It keeps your reputation intact.” Eroica rubbed his jaw. –I just wish that sometimes you were less emphatic about it.”

Klaus looked at him incredulously. –So, you’re saying-”

–I’m saying, Major, that I don’t flirt outrageously when we’re alone because there’s no need to set up a distraction. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. Because I do. You know that.”

Before Klaus could think how to respond, the door opened again.

–Would you like me to bring coffee for you and your guest, Master Klaus?” Herr Hinkel inquired.

–No coffee, thank you!” Klaus snapped. –And leave the tray.”

As the door closed, Eroica said, –Poor Herr Hinkel, you didn’t have to bark at him like that.”

–Bloody interruptions! Fuck it, how can anyone hold a conversation in this place?” Out of habit, Klaus glared at Eroica, who merely looked amused.

No, stop this, Klaus thought. It would be too easy to slip back into the usual pattern, him making smart remarks and me snarling at him.

–Where are you staying, Eroica? Are you going back to Bonn?”

–No, I’m staying in the village tonight. Why?”

–I’ve been thinking about taking a short trip on my motorcycle, just two or three days. You can ride a motorcycle, Eroica; why don’t you come with me? There’s a place in the village where you can hire one.”

–Why, Major.” A slow smile of surprise and pleasure spread across Eroica’s face. –I’d be delighted.”


Chapter End Notes:
Part two: Klaus's book of military history might have been 'Vom Kriege', a book on war and military strategy by Prussian general Carl von Clausewitz (1780–1831), written mostly after the Napoleonic wars, between 1816 and 1830, and published posthumously by his wife.
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